The magic of vodka and dim sims
by Ruler of the Fake Empire
Summary: A thought, a decision, an act. That is what it all started with and that is what it will end with, but as two men are forced across the desolate planes with mission in mind the ironic philosophy of the situation passes them by. Eyes are set on safety and perhaps each others hearts. This is the magic of vodka and dim sims


It was all a little mysterious, wasn't it?

It was just a simple little mesh of thoughts and impulses. A single quick justification linked to a decision linked to an act. The grab of an arm. A rough yank.

A thought, a decision, an act.

This was essentially how Yao came to be in Ivan's custody much to his own dissatisfaction. One minute he was calmly walking down the street the next some bumbling idiot runs into him and suddenly he was being thrown over someone's shoulder. He only managed one hoarse scream, before he realised that he wasn't being kidnapped, his life was simply in the process of being saved. He heard his younger sister's terrified squeal at the horrible sight of the assailants. A massive swarm of them were walking down the road, their weapons ranging from primitive spears and knives to the latest models of warfare. Everyone who had been walking down the sidewalk next to him were running, if they weren't already dead.

"Look away" He yelled to the child under the huge man's arm. He didn't have time to think. He could just see a handgun dangling from his man's belt. He grabbed it, his hands shaking with the petrifying fear that filled his veins. It had been a while since this particular type of black metal had shivered in his fingers, but he hadn't forgotten. You never forget. The man looked back at him, noticing that a weight had been lifted from his hip.

"I run, you shoot, da?" The man smiled like they weren't on the run from people with guns, but Yao nodded anyway. He raised his arm and shoot three bullets, as always his aim was perfect. It always was. He watched and shot in silence other than the occasional grunt. They were getting away, the horde getting smaller. He saw a long mauve scarf bobbing around the man's feet. He quickly wrapped it around his own neck, fearing that he would trip, because if he did they were all dead. A bullet whistled past his head.

_"Qǐng ràng wǒmen zhù" Please let us live. _

All of a sudden the man stopped running and Yao was forced to think that he prayed had been rebuffed by those stubborn gods he sort of believed in. Bastards. Then he was shoved into a car and it actually turned out that the man had just grown tired. Yao was going purely on instinct and instinct alone. And what his basic human survival instinct told him was that when hordes of people that want you to die are rushing towards you the best course of action would be to go in the opposite direction, preferably very, very fast. Which was what he did. He turned the ignition key and the car roared into life. He didn't press down on the peddle until he heard the sound of the man launching himself into the car. Then, of course, he floored it. The man must of run into a side street because there were no cars on the road. Yao heard a bullet pierce the back windshield and Mei screamed in turn.

"Mei, get down!" he screamed, panic lacing his voice. He was barely dealing as it was, he couldn't deal with the blood of a young one. He could hear the man breathing hard next to him as they drove straight out of the city. They left just as the army helicopters arrived, just as the army helicopters began to drop the bombs. Just as the whole world came crashing crashing down and all he had to show for it was his little sister, a mysterious life saving man and a light purple scarf still tucked around his neck.

It was all a little mysterious, wasn't it?

The man was strange. He slept soundly even after everything that had happened. He still had Ivan's scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, the little girl in his arms. How curious he was. Ivan had never met a man with hair as long as his. A few rebellious strands were falling into his face, dead black. The day cloaked in a veil of night.

Ivan had seen him once before which might of been why he had decided to save them. He didn't know the man's name, but the day before Ivan had seen him. The black haired man had been wandering around with four children, the smallest being just a toddler, the eldest barely ten. Three boys and one little girl. They had clung to him like the world was ending, as if they were scared of everyone and he was their only protecter. He had the second smallest boy on his back, the smallest in his arms and the other two clinging to his pant legs.

If Ivan was being truthful he should if seen the horde coming. He really should of seen the whole event coming, yet he still managed to be surprised. Nobody had thought that the protests would stretch this far, then again nobody had thought that the protests were even going to happen. Perhaps was a little unfair to call them protests. They had started out as simple protests about the usual things. Education, the economy, this and that, but then as a replacement for teargas the government had let off a new type of gas. It had been proven safe in the labs, but it must of had a chemical reaction with something because when it was meant to make the protesters calm it made them very very angry. Nobody knew what had happened at first, but the serum got contagious and soon enough a good half of the world was either a) dead or b) very very pissed off.

And now everything had just gone monumentally to shit.

Ivan brought his little notebook out if his coat pocket. It was an old notebook. One he had had since he was a small boy living in the frozen mountains of Russia with his sisters. This notebook held his treasures, few there were. A small decayed picture of his family, his older sister, younger sister and his papa, the general. The pressed petals of the first sunflower he ever saw. And the writings of his whole life. His scribbles and drables, from poems to diary entries to everything he care for.

His pen flowed from one side of the page and back again. It was almost too dark to see, but familiarity guided his hand. He left no detail unrecorded, ink drawing the man's face and the way he held himself and the way he had shot. Ivan wondered how he knew how to shoot like that. He was so interesting. And beautiful. The way his nose sloped and his features were sharp yet soft. Like he was a hand crafted masterpiece. His skin was slightly tanned and his lips slightly askew. He was a delicate human being.

Ivan's notebook snapped shut and his tucked it gently back into his inside pocket. Perhaps he would go to sleep now. That was something people did at night.

They had driven for a long time before they had spoken. The man's hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white. The first words spoken inside the car were of thanks. Not because Ivan had saved their lives, but because he had offered the girl child some candy.

"Thank you" she had said to him. He had smiled and turned back to the road, his pipe between his legs. He wasn't usually one to save people's lives. On average he had no interest in other people's survival, but, hey, he was going to need someone to eat if they ran out of food. The man had slid a look at him and nodded in thanks. When they finally stopped the man had shaken his hand, his dark eyes sprinkled with uncertainty.

Author's notes:

Ah, well this is interesting, isn't it. I'm not really sure where this will go, but I'm just diggin' china at the moment, so… we'll see where his one goes my friends.

With much love,

Clementine


End file.
